


Afterparty

by Broken_Clover



Category: Guilty Gear
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, Spoilers, Vodka, lots of vodka
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 20:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14480358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broken_Clover/pseuds/Broken_Clover
Summary: Spoilers for Rev 2, specifically after-story C. In the aftermath of the whole pudding fiasco, Zappa is left to deal with the cleanup as best as he possibly can (That is to say, badly)





	Afterparty

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably not meant to be taken seriously. It's mostly just what my reaction was to seeing the end of after-story C. After all this time, it seems Ishiwatari still enjoys pushing Zappa to the brink of insanity.

“Zappa?”

“Yes?”

“Is that the compensation...the penalty?”

“Yes.”

“Everyone who at the pudding will end up like that?”

“Yes.”

“Even though the contract is over?”

“...Yes.”

He’d already known where Daryl was going with that. The dulled-over look in his eyes told him everything. Still, he had held onto the last shreds of hope that it was all some sort of joke, that everyone was going to pop out of the closets and laugh at him for being such a sucker for pranks. He had wanted that- needed it, even.

All it took was one word, though, to break any idealism he’d had left.

“...Farewell.”

He wasn’t given any time to react as the force of takeoff knocked him flat on his back. There were still enough wits in his head to sit up as quickly as possible, to look up through the hole burst through the roof, to make sure that what was happening was...well, actually happening.

The entire paranormal investigation team, lead by Third King Daryl, was rocketing off into the sky, asses aflame.

...That was legitimately a thought that he had managed to have in his lifetime, without a hint of sarcasm. He was literally watching his co-workers and a major political figurehead jetting off into the clouds like human fireworks, slowly vanishing into the distance.

Well, that just about settled it. Zappa had gone completely insane again.

He marveled at his own calmness as he picked himself up off of the floor and wandered back towards the parlor. His brain struggled to process the fact that people had been calmly conversing a mere few minutes ago, that there had been any semblance of normalcy. Then again, they had been working on an investigation that had wound up being about summoning demons for the sake of pudding, so perhaps ‘normal’ wasn’t the best word for it.

He spotted one of the untouched bottles on the table. He knew it was vodka before he’d even picked it up to read the label. Randy had been insistent on bringing it to the celebration. Apparently it was some strong local brew from home that they liked to use for fancy events.

Randy…

With nobody around to scold or chide him for manners, he found a spot on one of the large, expensive sofas and kicked his still-booted feet onto the material as he sat. He wasn’t a man of luxury, so it was an unusual sensation to be on something so nice, but the only thing he could register was that it would make for a good place to pass out for a while.

Uncorking the blue bottle, he used one hand to hurl the stopper across the room while the other pressed the opening to his lips. The taste was strong and bitter, but it didn’t stop him from chugging it down like it was the only water in a desert. 

Before he knew it, a third of the bottle was gone. The logical part of him told him that this was going to be one hell of a hangover, especially for such a lightweight as he was, but it seemed logic had taken a holiday for the time being. 

He let the arm clutching the bottle dangle over the edge of the couch. Morning sunlight still streamed through the large window, casting a faint blue shadow on the wood floor.

He still wasn’t entirely sure how they’d managed to talk the entire night. Dinner had been interrupted early, so he’d hardly been given a chance to eat anything. For the time being, the growling for food in his stomach had been stifled with alcohol. Hopefully that just made it all kick in faster. 

As the minutes ticked by, Zappa could feel his brain starting to go fuzzy. Thinking became harder, with any attempts for seriousness quickly falling into disarrayed nonsense. Good. That was good.

With the lack of control, the well-kept dam on his emotions sprang free, and he found himself struggling not to cry. It was remedied with another swig of vodka, the bitterness enough to ignore it.

A slurred laugh forced itself from his mouth. The funniest part of the whole thing? He hated pudding. Absolutely despised it. He didn’t have the faintest idea how he was going to say no when it was offered, seeing as how the poor woman had worked so hard on it. The best option had seemed to be eating it and spend the rest of the night resisting the urge to throw up. Now, it wasn’t even an issue.

Zappa hauled up the bottle for another go, feeling the haze of intoxication threatening to consume him. He grinned sloppily, reclining into the couch, willing the sheer strength of the drink to fry out his thoughts and make him forget the night’s events for as long as humanly possible.


End file.
